


Black Out

by mrvvrench



Category: Fargo (2014)
Genre: Claustrophobia Warning, Darkness, M/M, assault rifles warning, but it's not graphic, minor death warning, some dudes die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrvvrench/pseuds/mrvvrench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a job, the power in an old warehouse gets cut and leaves Wrench and Numbers lost in the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lemonison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonison/gifts).



> I wrote this small fic for [lemonison](http://lemonison.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. She wanted Wrenchers [trapped in a closet](http://lemonison.tumblr.com/post/89595346647/i-volunteer-i-volunteer-as-tribute-unless-someone). Prompts are [always accepted](http://sherlockcaptor.tumblr.com/ask). I'll also continue to work on the longer ones that are in my askbox! If your prompt hasn't been fic'd yet, that's probably why!

Things were going so well until the power went out. Or cut, more likely.

Numbers and Wrench had been hunting down two men in a huge, empty warehouse. Their targets had been crafty enough to avoid the bullets raining from both of the hit men’s guns; there were plenty of old pipes and small barricades to dodge behind despite the place being gutted long ago.

Neither knows exactly how, but somehow, Wrench and Numbers had lost them in the warehouse and just when they thought it couldn’t get any worse, darkness falls over the entire place without warning. Their brains take a second to catch up to the blindness, before Wrench’s hand desperately seeks out Numbers in the darkness. Being deaf can be a hindrance enough as it is on the job, but Numbers is always there to ease is. Now with two senses robbed from him, the larger hit man starts to panic. One hand clings to the gun while the other slaps around uselessly in the air, afraid to move from the spot. Wrench feels so incredibly lost in the void.

A hand connects with Numbers’s face in a slap that gives off a little sting, but otherwise leaves no pain. Numbers grabs the flailing hand and squeezes it. In a matter of seconds, the panic begins to lessen as the smaller hit man leads them alongside a wall of the warehouse, listening for even the faintest noises in the pitch black. He thanks whatever gods that exist that Wrench is being far quieter than he’d ever been in his life. Maybe he knows the danger of the situation, or perhaps he’s just in assassin mode.

They edge along the wall as silently as possible. Numbers eyes begin to adjust to the darkness, but there’s still not reprieve from it. Being able to make out tiny corners of things an inch in front of his face was better than nothing, but it doesn’t stop him from stubbing his foot against a pipe. A whispered curse breaks his lips and he thinks he might hear movement from somewhere far off in the deeper parts of the warehouse.

He needs to find a way to get them to safety, but he’s not sure where the door is or what way they’re even facing. There’s no lights or windows to indicate which way is out and he can feel his own panic threatening to rise in his chest like bile.

His hand collides with a door knob and while he’s sure it isn’t the one to outside – no draft of cold air coming from it – he decides to open it and take it anyway. Wrench feels his body being pulled to the side and he steps through the door and into a tiny space. Numbers pushes him backwards against a wall. They both set the safety on their rifles, but only Numbers sets his down and stashes it beside him. He leans it carefully against the wall, within grabbing range should he need it.

A broom clatters to the floor and Wrench jumps from the vibrations, effectively knocking a bucket over. Numbers quickly shuts the door, fingers finding a lock. **Thank fucking god,** he thinks to himself as he switches it over. He rattles the door knob quietly for a minute, finding that the lock still works. They were somewhat safe for now. He just had to hope their targets would leave the warehouse in pursuit of them, so they could slink out and escape. They’d have to hunt them down all over again and Numbers vaguely sighed over the thought of all that lost time and work.

Wrench was still fidgeting around and freaking out over the renewed pitch black and small space they were confined it. Numbers was about to sign to him, but then realized it would be useless. He won’t see Numbers’s hands even if the man held them right up to Wrench’s face.

Instead, he brings his hands up to soothe his poor partner. Calloused but soft skin brushes over his face and shoulders. The tense muscles relax just a fraction as Wrench’s breathing begins to steady out a little. Numbers feels around the wall and space around them as the other still continues trying to relax his partner. It’s a closet, he guesses. A janitorial one perhaps. A broom closet. There’s hardly space between the two of them and their guns. They both have their backs against the opposite walls, yet their knees nearly knock against each other. It’s massively cramped in the tiny space and Numbers holds a new appreciation for the fact he’s never experienced claustrophobia before in his life. Though, he can only guess that Wrench might be developing it now.

Something falls from the overhanging shelf onto Wrench’s head. The hit man flails a little in the tiny space. **Holy shit, this is how he’s going to die. Wrench is going to accidentally shoot him in a panic.** Numbers knows the safety is on, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t click off.

A noise of discomfort leaves Wrench’s throat. It’s louder than Numbers thinks is acceptable. Any time their targets could pass by the door. A hand shoots up to Wrench’s mouth, covering it gently, but firmly. The other touches the man’s throat and taps it a few times. He doesn’t know if he’ll understand what he’s trying to tell him, but Wrench is pretty smart.

His hand loosens up a bit as he strains his ears to listen to the warehouse outside the door. This time he’s pretty sure he can hear some noises; shuffling perhaps. It wasn’t coming from either of them. **God, please** , Numbers hoped they hadn’t heard the clatter of whatever had fallen or Wrench’s voice.

Footsteps get closer and instinctively, Numbers presses closer to Wrench. He taps his throat once more and presses his hand against his mouth a little harder, trying to convey the severity of situation and their dependence on him not making a sound. He can feel Wrench’s head bob up and down in understanding and he removes his hands from his partner. The sound of boots clomping against concrete sounds deafening to Numbers. He picks up Wrench’s hand and turns it so his is palm facing up. He’d read about this when he was learning ASL. Some famous woman learned this way. He hopes Wrench will be able to follow.

As slowly as the situation will allow, he drags his index finger feather light along the sensitive palm of Wrench’s hands. It takes a few seconds before he thinks Wrench might have caught his drift.

_P-E-O-P-L-E  O-U-T-S-I-D-E  D-O-O-R._

He removes his finger from the palm and brings it up to Wrench’s cheek, waiting for him to nod. He did. **Thank you sweet Jesus,** Numbers thinks to himself.

_G-E-T  G-U-N  R-E-A-D-Y_

Again he raises his hand up, cupping his partner’s face. Wrench nods once more.

_W-H-E-N  I  P-U-N-C-H  Y-O-U-R  S-H-O-U-L-D-E-R  S-H-O-O-T  T-H-E  D-O-O-R._

Wrench nods in assent, trusting his partner. Numbers places his hands around Wrench’s hips and gently guides him to the place he needs to be; in front of the locked door. Wrench shoulders his rifle, the safety switch makes a tiny, audible click that Numbers swears sounds like someone shouting into a canyon, with a thousand echoes. Switching his focus back to the door, Numbers can barely make out the knob, but some details have come back to his eyes. He still feels blind and his heart aches at the thought of how Wrench must be feeling right now.

Numbers is more than careful as he listens to the world outside the door. He presses himself back against the wall as far as he can from his partner in the cramped space. One wrong move and Wrench would shoot through the wood prematurely and their targets would know their plan and where they were. As the footsteps narrow in, nearly passing the closet, Numbers kicks the side of the wall.

The vibrations reach Wrench and for a moment of sheer terror, Numbers thinks he might actually fire the assault rifle from the unexpected movement. But he holds it firmly, going against all of his instincts that scream from his gut to fire. His partner made this plan. He has to trust him. Numbers is the only one he can trust right now.

Numbers can hear one of the men shouting.

“They’re over here!”

A second set of footsteps come to a halt outside the door. Numbers’s eyes glue onto what he can make out of the doorknob, listening intently. He blocks out the quick sounds of Wrench’s breath as he waits, holding his own breath in anticipation.

Finally the doorknob begins to rattle and Numbers slaps Wrench on the shoulder. Without missing a beat, the man opens fire on the wood as soon as Numbers retracts his hand. Numbers can hear the sounds of screams as someone is presumably hit. Wrench throws the remains of the door down with his foot, barreling out of the doorway. Wrench stops shooting and his partner can make out the sounds of footsteps falling slowly away from them. Grabbing Wrench’s hand, Numbers places it on his own shoulder. One target was down from what he could tell. A swift kick to the shattered man on the ground with no cry of agony indicates his death enough for the smaller hit man. Numbers picks up his rifle, readying it as he leads Wrench onwards, listening for the sounds of the other target.

Ears catch the distant noise of muffled, but unmistakable limping. So they’d killed one and injured the other. In a split second, Numbers decides on a choice that he doesn’t want to have to make. But it is the best plan and decision under certain circumstances. He stops and grabs Wrench’s palm. Tiny flips make his stomach clench as he thinks about how upset Wrench is about to be.

_S-T-A-Y  H-E-R-E  O-K-A-Y_?

Wrench grips his hand and Numbers can see the outline of his head shaking “no” furiously. The smaller hit man feels really bad, but he’ll make his way back to him. He’s sure of it. He’ll be able to catch this guy if he went now and found him before he has time to escape. Then he could come back to Wrench and get them to safety much easier.

_J-U-S-T  T-R-U-S-T  M-E._

Numbers holds up the simplified sign for “I love you” on his fingers and presses it into Wrench before he leaves him standing there, deaf and near blind in the darkness.

 

Stationed there alone in the dark with no noise to indicate if anything was coming, made Wrench feel the panic rising all over again. He grips his rifle a little tighter and strains his eyes to make out any movements in the black world around him. He wants to go with Numbers. He knows he’s practically useless like this; fuck he feels so useless. If Numbers gets hurt or worse…

No. Fuck. He can’t think like that. Blunt teeth nip at nervous lips as Wrench tries to control the panic and fear. Part of him is really mad at Numbers for leaving him weak and practically defenseless, but then he remembers that’s exactly what he is right now. Beating himself up, he watches, defeated, for signs of his partner’s return. _Please,_ he signs against his chest, feeling overwhelming fear trying to crush him like a tiny bug.

 

Numbers’s heart thumps in his chest as his mind tries to second guess his plan. He stops moving for a second and listens for the sound of the injured target. In an instant, his pace hastens as he catches the clamor of a leg being dragged. He tries to clear his mind as he runs towards it, but a part that he can’t seem to control no matter how hard he tries, stays fixed on the partner he left behind.

The commotion of his running must have startled the target because he seems to quicken in pace. But this makes him careless of his injury’s inabilities. Sure enough, Numbers can hear him trip over something. A sharp, piercing scream echoes throughout the warehouse and vaguely the small hit man wonders if his partner can feel it.

Cautious but quick, Numbers makes his way over to the source of the crash. He doesn’t know if their target is armed and has to watch his own footing. Labored breathing and small groans can be heard around a corner as Numbers inches his way around it. He aims his rifle downwards and waits for his eyes to catch their target. He doesn’t give him warning; doesn’t make a noise. With no hesitation, Numbers squeezes the trigger. The assault rifle pumps several rounds into the body in front of the hit man.

After a moment of thinking, Numbers decides to drag the body back with him. The dead man is surprisingly light as he pulls him along by his broken leg. It takes a few minutes to find the right path back to Wrench, but finally he can see his outline looking around frantically. Slowly, Numbers approaches with his hand outstretched. He feels a bit like he’s approaching a nervous horse; it’s almost exactly like that. Well, if the horse was armed with an assault rifle, that is.

Numbers makes sure to touch him very gently and Wrench spins to look at him. They can make out a limited amount, their eyes somewhat adjusted to the deep darkness. _Drag the body a couple feet that way_ Numbers signs slow and exaggerative so Wrench can catch all the signs.

Wrench nods and sets down his rifle. The hit man hefts the giant man by the scruff of his coat, carefully trying to avoid touching anything else. They’re not able to inspect the scene for anything that might give them away, but neither of the men are bleeding so hopefully no DNA can be found.

Numbers clicks the safety on, and begins to wipe off his rifle of any prints. He drops down on the balls of his heels to grab the dead man’s hand, rubbing his blood soaked fingerprints all over the rifle before carefully turning the safety back off. Wrench watches his every move, until Numbers hands over the handkerchief he’d used to wipe his weapon clean. The bigger hit man copies his partner, down to the detail, before dropping it beside the other dead body, wrapping the handkerchief around his wrist and pressing his bloody hand all over it. Numbers hears the safety click off.

Fargo is going to be mad they lost expensive weaponry, but it’s the smarter choice. Leaving two people, even criminals, gunned down in an empty warehouse without any explanation would draw unnecessary attention. They filch all their personal belongings and go over the scene once more with as much scrutiny as the darkness will allow them.

Numbers wraps his hand around Wrench’s, leading them along the wall they’d come by and towards where he thinks the exit might be. After a half hour, he finds what they’re looking for with much relief and they open the door into the darkness of the night. Without any lights outside the warehouse that’s located outside the town, it’s nearly as dark out here as it was inside. They make their way back to their car quickly, relishing the beautiful feeling of light when the doors open. It burns their eyes, but it bathes them in a feeling of warmth and safety and reassurance.

That night Numbers signs soothing things to his partner, placing sweet, soft kisses along his neck and shoulders and jaw. It calms him down a lot, but underneath his hand, he can still feel the swift fluttering of his heart.

They both crawl into the motel bed, sharing the heat under the covers to keep away the Midwest winter nights. It isn’t long before exhaustion claims them. Sleep drags them down, one by one, into a hazy, nightmare addled night.  

It’s no wonder why that night they leave the lights on.


End file.
